They laughed. Then one said, "I heard him tellin' Hill him and Ann was goin' to marry and have a big infare. But her Pappy won't let her till next year. She has to git more schoolin'." "He better git while gittin's good. John Rutledge is fixed, and he sets more store by Ann than the whole other eight of 'em." "McNeil knows all that. But here comes Kit Parsons. Wonder what's kept him late? Kit, you're late." "Yeh," and he sat down by the fire. "What's extry? Been stealin' anything or gettin' religion?" "Same thing as gettin' religion," he said. "Been fulfillin' the Scripture injunction." "Which one?" "Been replenishin' and multiplyin'." "Mollie got another litter?" Ole Bar asked with a show of interest. "Just one this year. But I calculate that a man what grubs for three which arrives in two years is somewhat religious." "Bars is that religious," the one-eyed man observed, "only when they pursue the course of Nature they don't blame it on religion." After a laugh Ole Bar said solemnly to Kit, "If you young fellers knew what was good fer you you'd let wimmin alone." "Where'd you learn so much about wimmin?" Jo asked. "From bars. Bars rub noses at matin' time and tears the ears offen each other when the cubs has to be fed. Let wimmin alone and save the wear on your noses and ears." "How's a body going to leave any ancestry if he don't never git no place near a woman?" Buck Thompson asked. "Ancestry?" repeated Ole Bar. "Well, what under heaven is these little, wet-nosed ancestry good fer anyhow? Never had no ancestry myself and I'm gettin' along all right--got along all right while I was in Arkansas, and anybody that can do that don't need to worry about leavin' no ancestry." "Tell us about Arkansas," was the next demand. Ole Bar shifted his cud into its receptacle and said, "Wall, as you all know, in bar hunts I've been numerous, but I hain't never seen no such bars as grow in Arkansas. The bars in Arkansas is the most promiscuous I've ever seen and don't give a damn for nobody. But, Squire, lets licker up. I'm gettin' so dry I'm takin' the rattles," and he reached for the bottle which was passed around. "Bars in Arkansas grows so fat they can't wobble. You fellers here that think you're gettin' the real thing when you bag the chipper-growlers and shite pokers of these parts don't know nothin' about what's growing in Arkansas. Them bars rear up into the heavens high as that feller that plugged the ark." "That smells rather tall," Buck Thompson observed, but Ole Bar paid no attention. "The woods in Arkansas is ankle deep with acorns and berries and other bar food. Everybody there eats bar, bar-ham and bar-sassage. The beds is covered with bar-skins. They don't use small skins like wild cat fer nothin' 'cept piller covers." "Do they have hoss tradin' in them parts?" Buck Thompson inquired. "Hoss tradin'? Well, I should say 'Yeh.' You galoots think you swap hosses, but in Arkansas----"